Podcasts about homicide division

In April of 2022, Felicia Johnson flew to Houston, Texas from San Diego, California to celebrate her 24th birthday and look for work in the area. Upon booking a client late one night, Felicia disappeared. Law enforcement, volunteers, and Texas Equusearch performed searches around the areas she was thought to possibly be, but the efforts were fruitless. Though the public strongly believed Felicia was the victim of sex trafficking, Houston Police Detectives were following leads of a different kind – leads that would uncover an aspiring serial killer was responsible for her disappearance. Eventually, Felicia's remains were recovered, but the man who allegedly murdered her remains a fugitive from justice.If you have any information about the murder of Felicia Johnson or the whereabouts of Chukwuebuka Chibundo Nwobodo, please contact the Houston Police Department's Homicide Division at (713) 308-3600 or Crime Stoppers at (713) 222-TIPS.You can support gone cold and listen to the show ad-free at patreon.com/gonecoldpodcastFind us at https://www.gonecold.comFor Gone Cold merch, visit https://gonecold.dashery.comFollow gone cold on Facebook, Instagram, Threads, TikTok, YouTube, and X. Search @gonecoldpodcast at all or just click linknbio.com/gonecoldpodcastSources: nownyc.org, nih.gov, theguardian.com, KHOU.com, ABC13.com, fox26houston.com, houstontx.gov, mctxsheriff.org, and Chukwuebuka Nwobodo arrest warrant affidavit #JusticeForFeliciaJohnson #Houston #HoustonTX #TX #Texas #TrueCrime #TexasTrueCrime #ColdCase #TrueCrimePodcast #Podcast #ColdCase #Unsolved #Murder #UnsolvedMurder #UnsolvedMysteries #Homicide #CrimeStories #PodcastRecommendations #CrimeJunkie #MysteryPodcast #TrueCrimeObsessed #CrimeDocs #InvestigationDiscovery #PodcastAddict #TrueCrimeFan #CriminalJustice #ForensicFilesBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/gone-cold-texas-true-crime--3203003/support.

6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. In the high-stakes world of law enforcement, decisions made under pressure can define careers and change lives. One such case, which involved the shooting of six NYPD officers, put the spotlight on the internal struggles within the department and the unwavering commitment of one commander to uphold justice. You can listen to the interview as a free podcast on the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast website and platforms like Apple Podcasts, Spotify and most major podcast platforms. The Tragic Incident and the Hunt for a Suspect In November 1986, a dramatic confrontation unfolded in the South Bronx when NYPD officers attempted to apprehend a suspect linked to multiple homicides. The operation, which should have been a routine arrest, quickly spiraled into chaos as the suspect engaged in a shootout with the police. Six officers were shot, miraculously all survived. Follow the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Newsbreak, Medium and most all social media platforms. Despite the severity of the situation, political pressure and poor decision-making by NYPD command staff delayed the apprehension of the suspect. Lieutenant Commander Vernon Geberth, then the head of the Homicide Division in the Bronx, found himself at a crossroads. Frustrated by bureaucratic missteps, he chose to rely on tried-and-true policing tactics, ultimately leading to the suspect's capture. He would later describe his decisions as a leader by the higher-ups as "Commandacide." 6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. Read the supporting stories about this and much more from Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast in platforms like Medium, Newsbreak and Blogspot. The Aftermath: Career Consequences and Retirement Though his leadership was instrumental in bringing the suspect to justice, Geberth faced backlash from the NYPD’s brass. Recognizing that his defiance might lead to punitive action, he made the painful decision to retire. His departure was not a result of failure but of a system unwilling to embrace officers who prioritized effective policing over politics. The interview is available as a free podcast on the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and podcast website, also available on platforms like Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and most major podcast outlets. The Notorious Suspect’s Fate The suspect, a man from NYC, initially gained notoriety when he claimed self-defense in the shootout and was acquitted of charges except for illegal gun possession. However, his criminal past eventually caught up with him. In 1991, he was convicted of the murder of a Bronx drug dealer and sentenced to 25 years to life. His story ended in 2008 when he was fatally stabbed by another inmate. 6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. Follow the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and podcast on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Newsbreak, Medium and most all social media platforms. Vernon Geberth: A Legacy in Law Enforcement Following his NYPD retirement, Vernon Geberth continued to shape the field of criminal investigation. His expertise made him a sought-after commentator for major media outlets, including Fox News, 60 Minutes, Frontline, and A&E. He was frequently invited to discuss high-profile cases on platforms like Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Apple, and Spotify podcasts. Known as the "Godfather of Homicide," Geberth's impact on law enforcement extends far beyond his time in the field. His textbook, Practical Homicide Investigation, is regarded as the definitive resource for homicide detectives worldwide. Now in its fifth edition, the book is an essential tool in police academies, including the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. 6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. Check out the show on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, Newsbreak, Medium and most all social media platforms The Ongoing Impact of His Teachings Through his books, training seminars, and media presence, Geberth has left an indelible mark on modern policing. His strategies and forensic techniques continue to guide investigators, ensuring that justice is served effectively and ethically. 6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. It is available as a free podcast on the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast website, on Apple Podcasts, Spotify and most major podcast platforms. The 1986 incident remains a stark reminder of the challenges officers face—not just from criminals but from within their own ranks. It also underscores the importance of decisive leadership, as demonstrated by Geberth, whose commitment to justice prevailed despite immense pressure. His story is not just one of police work but of resilience, integrity, and an unwavering dedication to the truth. You can help contribute money to make the Gunrunner Movie. The film that Hollywood won't touch. It is about a now Retired Police Officer that was shot 6 times while investigating Gunrunning. He died 3 times during Medical treatment and was resuscitated. You can join the fight by giving a monetary "gift" to help ensure the making of his film at agunrunnerfilm.com. Learn useful tips and strategies to increase your Facebook Success with John Jay Wiley. Both free and paid content are available on this Patreon page. Background song Hurricane is used with permission from the band Dark Horse Flyer. Be sure to check out our website. Be sure to follow us on MeWe, X, Instagram, Facebook,Pinterest, Linkedin and other social media platforms for the latest episodes and news. You can contact John Jay Wiley by email at Jay@letradio.com. Get the latest news articles, without all the bias and spin, from the Law Enforcement Talk Radio Show and Podcast on the Newsbreak app, which is free. Find a wide variety of great podcasts online at The Podcast Zone Facebook Page, look for the one with the bright green logo. 6 Police From The NYPD Were Shot The Apprehension and Pressure. Atributions Amazon Wikipedia Practical Homicide See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Being known by the company you keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Life exists in both seconds and years. Don't ignore one for the other.” I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature. (Monday Night) I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain't hindsight grand? Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra's experiences with all the extra bells and whistles. In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom. I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body. "My turn," she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she'd talked with Libra. Without question, she'd never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She'd manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat. This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she'd orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place. Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn't a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line. From being sure she wasn't going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The 'fumph' of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the ass as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy's aim remained frighteningly accurate. Lemon juice and cuts don't mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace' mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose. Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don't use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they'll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend's place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV. I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke's boy toy. Hoping that wouldn't be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn't sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings. I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I'm not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she'd passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me. "Happy?" I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. "Are you glad you came over?" I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. "Ow," I grumbled. "I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here." "Do I need to bite you again?" Brooke mumbled into my chest. "Point taken," I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked. "Cáel is going to be my boyfriend," Brooke tossed out there. Huh? "What in God's green earth makes you want to do that?" Timothy chuckled. "He's been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn't matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters," Brooke enlightened us both. "Seriously Dude," Timothy looked at me with pity. "Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal," he added, but then, "Brooke, you know he's seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?" "Cáel is looking for a serious relationship," Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas. "Let's go back to bed, Babe," I redirected things to safer waters. "It is your turn to be on top." Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my screwed up life except the beautiful woman with me right now' sex. Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased me in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked me inside her snatch while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang. "Should I get that?" Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device. "The number is unlisted," she mused. "Who could it be?" I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak. "Work," I repeated. "It might be work. I'm on-call 24/7." "Damn," Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear. "Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use," Katrina's icy calm voice informed me. "Katrina, what is wrong?" I inquired. Normally, I wouldn't get an answer. Katrina's tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "There has been an incident at your Father's home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in," she related. "Understood," I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad. "Cáel?" Brooke sounded worried. "We need to get dressed," I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I; I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette. She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already. "Odette, go back to Timothy's room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!" I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room. "Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don't come out until the police get here. Do you understand?" I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock. "Crab Fisher-woman," a female voice said from the other side. "My Father's Sister," I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did. In Hittite, she said; "Ishara," the leader said, "we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately." They weren't blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability. In Hittite, she said; “ Will a team be watching my domicile?" I asked. The leader nodded. "We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone." The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English. "Brooke, finish getting dressed. I'm taking you home," I called out. Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out. "Bro?" Timothy asked. "My Father's home was attacked. I have no other details right now," I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile. "Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?" Timothy asked. He sensed we had limited time. "They," and by 'they' he knew I meant Havenstone, "will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don't know anymore." "We'll stay put," Timothy declared. Odette nodded. "We'll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won't say no." I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay'. "You'll need an overnight bag!" Odette squeaked. Off she went. Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean's pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me' for when I got back. "Three minutes, Ish; Cáel," the leader updated me. My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move. "Velma," she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat. Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H and K UMP 40 caliber; my second favorite Amazon killing device. Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down. Two SD's to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me. I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up'. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well. "I'm not sure I can walk in this thing," Brooke gave me a weak smile. "Don't worry," I smiled, "I'll carry you." I slipped my arm around Brooke's waist and, on Velma's signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend. I left with that promise unanswered. I didn't ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn't give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn't end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina's office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter. Katrina's office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn't know yet seemed to belong. "Excuse me?" Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me. "Don't mind me," Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room. "I'm here for moral support," she concluded then took a seat. "Cáel?" Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room. "What's going on?" I began the meeting instead. "Your Father is dead," Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes'. Dad. "From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked," Katrina told me. "Are they okay?" I mumbled. I didn't want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference? "Three of the four members were killed," Saint Marie interjected. "The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father's domicile. The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father's body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody." "What are we going to do about this?" I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch. She'd lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive. "There is nothing we can do," the stranger spoke up. "Troika of House Šauška." "You are joking, right?" I stared at her. "He was a male, not of;” Troika began to state. "You do know your Amazon law, correct?" I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. "Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that." Cha-ching! "Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!" Saint Marie jumped up. "They murdered the Head of House Ishara!" Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game. "But what does that make him?" Troika pointed at me. "It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active' member of Havenstone 'represented' the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First' House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way," Katrina said. "At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally," Katrina pointed out. "There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned." "This is Casus Belli," Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. "I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories." "To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?" I questioned. "Can I kill them?" "That is correct," Troika appeared confused. "Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way." I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad; Dad wouldn't have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt. "Troika; hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of The Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family," I felt like crying. That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn't recall if I said 'I love you' to him. I'd never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet. "Troika," I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion' moment. "When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?" "No," Troika clarified, "and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?" Pamela laughed at her. "Because I killed Cáel's Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him," Pamela related in an amused tone. "Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel's Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel; who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going," Pamela finished, "for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati." Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me. "If you go to war against the O'Shea's you are being forced to fight your own family," the Golden Mare stared at me in shock. "Let me get this straight," Troika stood up, waving for silence. "When the O'Shea's killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage." She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how screwed up everything was. Breach? No Breach? "Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas," Katrina declared. There was a pause. "I'll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go," I said. "Were do you think you are going?" Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she'd had no role in affairs. My safety though; "I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy," I announced. This was not a discussion. "Shouldn't we take his body to the cliffs?" Troika suggested. "My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I'm not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now," I sighed. I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang. "Cáel Nyilas," I answered sadly. "Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time," a man's voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch. "Yes; Dad?" I finally spoke. "Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary," he lied. It was a good lie. If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was; nah, he was lying. "I'm on the next flight to Chicago," was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser' replies to choose from. "That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas," he told me. "Do you know when I can expect you?" "Ah; I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I'm there," I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious. "One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance," he pressed. "Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I'll point you to the dead bodies when I'm done," I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause. "Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?" Det. Brewster kept is game face on. "We'll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care," I said before hanging up. "Smooth," Pamela gently chastised me. "I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don' on that cop," Buffy countered. "I'll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago," Helena added. "No," I countermanded her. "You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning." By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised; and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner' induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara's war cry. "I'll take the first commercial flight available," I continued. "We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara," Velma warned me. "They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I'm showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person," I reminded her. "I'll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister." Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad. The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn't a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed. "It will be done," Velma decided. "We will have your team meet you at O'Hare." "My team?" I asked. "Rachel; her team," Velma clarified. That was enough good for me. "Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I'd hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs," I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy'. (Monday Noon) (The hospital) That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn't sure that post-60 wasn't her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon's hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me. The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover. He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress. According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside. "We stand before the Eye of the World," I whispered. That meant surveillance. "I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?" Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. "I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish," I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place. They didn't exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor. Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire. "Mr. Nyilas, I am;” and the introductions came pouring in. I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD. "We would like to talk with you," Theodora took charge. "Can I ask a question first?" I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan. "Of course," Theodora allowed. "Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here," I finished with Brewster. "I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?" I looked over the group. "Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn't take the news well." "Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?" Theodora took charge. "Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to," I agreed. "Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?" Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook. "I came to see the woman found alive in my family home," I replied smoothly. "She is probably still in surgery," Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex. "Oh, she got out an hour ago," I enlightened them. "Let's take this conversation to FBI Headquarters," Theodora 'suggested'; you know, in the way that really wasn't a suggestion. "Have you gone to see that woman?" Lisa wouldn't let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I'd already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation. "Yes," I responded to Lisa. "Isn't she under police protection?" Lisa and Theodora blurted out together. "There was a policeman at her door," I shrugged. "We went in and I talked to her." "What did she say?" Theodora brushed Lisa aside. "Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said; well, I was emotional," I evaded. "She was barely conscious." Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out'. He couldn't remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn't been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times. "We should go to the FBI offices," Theodora repeated. "I'm going home," I sighed sadly. "I want to go home." "It is still an active crime scene," John told me. "There won't be any civilian access for some time." Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick. "Please, come with us," FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight. "No. I'm going with Burnham PD," I countered. "You can find me there." "That's not how it works," Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture. Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had Any history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others. "I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works," I regarded Theodora. "Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say." "Don't you want to help solve your Father's murder?" Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream. "Really? Fine; I'm going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father's murder, not on their career," I reposed. "We are all trying to;” Lisa got out. "You maybe," I gave Lisa that much. "My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P and L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother's illness and my college expenses." "As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off," I continued. "He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died." "What about your activity?" Theodora inquired. We weren't running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn't make me talkative in the least. "I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet," I began. "So that's over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around," I continued, "which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?" "No, it is not;” Theodora simmered. "How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?" Lisa interrupted. "I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home," I lied convincingly. "Who are you?" Brewster decided that I wasn't exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn't speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction. "Rachel Louis," Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. "You are Rachel Louis, aren't you?" "Yes, she is," I intervened. "Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist." There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn't with 'misanthropic'. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist' that had them stumped. "Rachel is an unsociable man-hater," I explained. "Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her." "What kind of piece do you normal carry?" Rios asked her. Unsocial didn't mean stupid. "I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10," I answered. "We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office." I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie. "Do have gun licenses for those weapons?" Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story. "It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?" Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly. "Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis," Rachel replied. To me, "I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go." "It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of;” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn't!' with 'what the flock?' "Ah;” Brewster got out. "On that note, I think we will be going," I shrugged. To Rachel, "You do not get out enough." "Can I see your wallet again?" Brewster was still confused by Rachel's rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop's hands. "I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely," Rachel counterattacked. "Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here," she produced a business card with a flourish, "is the contact information for our legal department." Theodora took the card gingerly then read it. "Havenstone again," she mused. "Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?" "Are you insane?" I trembled with emotion. "I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don't want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him." "Path, you Idiot!" I screamed at Theodora. Screw it, I was crying again. "Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!" In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless. Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn't that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain. I wasn't leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn't sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact. "Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should;” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn't lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don't normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent. He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn't care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren't over yet. "Mr. Nyilas, where are you going next?" Detective Lisa came after us. "I; I don't know," I muttered. "Where is my Father's body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom; I guess." Brewster came hurrying along. "He is at the Medical Examiner's Office," Lisa informed me. "Come with me." "Why don't you give me the address?" I sighed. "Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?" Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time. "How about we cut to the chase?" I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes. "We'll take my cars; cars with an 's'," I offered. "I am a hometown boy. I've never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn't an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense." Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience. Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen. "So the woman upstairs works with you?" Lisa asked as we pulled out. "Where to?" Tiger Lily (I still wasn't used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies'. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I'll scratch your back, you'll scratch mine'. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went. "No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father's on my behalf though I was unaware of it," I related. "Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?" Brewster prodded. "That I don't know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me," I answered. "Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad," I continued. "I don't live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a; companion by the name of Odette Sievert." "Companion? Is she; a working girl?" Lisa went searching. "No, I use the term companion to indicate she's too nice a girl for me. She's sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do," I explained. "Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I've gotten the feeling he's busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy." "Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?" Brewster pondered. "One does not 'consider' what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on," I grumbled. "Yes, I know I live a screwed up life." "What about your friends here?" Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me. "Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I'll plead the Fifth," I confessed. "We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister; Cáel," Brewster stated. "Everyone we've talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear," Brewster schooled me. "I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you," Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. "Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists." "You are not like the rest of this menagerie," Lisa noted. "Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive," Pamela smiled. Those two didn't know what to make of Pamela's statement because it was so sincere yet incredible. "If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it," Pamela enlightened them. Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster. "But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?" he asked. "The men didn't come to kill him," Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. "They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him." "The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire," Lisa mumbled. "Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?" "Stupidity," Pamela replied. "Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel." "I don't buy that," Brewster said. "They simply started shooting at each other; no." "Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either." "That makes no sense," Lisa protested. "Congratulations. That is why Cáel can't talk to you anymore," Pamela smirked. "This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I'd kill him myself." "He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7 to 5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night," Pamela teased me. "He's no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I'm training him to be smarter than that." "Who are you?" Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me. "I've fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves." "Do you really think you are that good?" Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela. "Do you want your gun back?" Pamela offered up a police issue Glock 22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief. "How did you do that?" Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster's shoulder with the man's magazine. Brewster was aghast. She'd stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing. "I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me," Pamela grinned. Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father. (The Medical Examiner's Office) So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever. Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap' instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery. Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out', whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel. Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner's autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less. The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn't have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn't unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa's experienced eye. Rachel's heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything. Horace didn't know what was wrong yet when Lisa's hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45. "Excuse me," Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. "Excuse me," Lisa demanded in a louder voice. "I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?" That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd' fellows weren't breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct'. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking' men. That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look. "What can we do for you, officer?" the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly. "Whose body is that?" Lisa inquired. "I'm not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home," he shrugged. "Take ten seconds and show me the release order," Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn't right. "Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad," Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn't curse around their children. "Of course, Detective Capella," the diplomat nodded. "Is there a problem?" He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over. Lisa wasn't born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge. "Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero," I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace. "I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas," Lisa informed them. "If I can't talk to him, I can't let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation." The 'diplomat' was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me' without my phone ringing. Even so, 'I' confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up. "One more question," Lisa pulled a 'Columbo', "was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players'?" The 'diplomat' made one last lunge at deception. "Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate," he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what you mean?" "Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS," Lisa deconstructed their illusions. "The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt. Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance'," Lisa pointed out. "Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt." Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad's horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space. The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers'. He whipped out a 357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad's body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely. The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa's hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat's' armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac 11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel's hands. Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat's EMS buddy revealed his own Mac 11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before. His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a 45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility. This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a 357 didn't make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad's body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father. The men's cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney's top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy's shins and blasted off his knee caps. As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door. Rachel was rifling the closest EMS's headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M 11. "Don't," Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door. "Rachel, leave the gun and follow me," I commanded. "Wait," Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat. Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn't ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered in Hittite 'dirty goat' at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier. "Da-darn it," Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us. I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. There were no cars peeling away and had the bad guy fled out the huge doors 15 meters away, she would have seen him. Rachel arrived next. "Secure my Father's body," I instructed. She wasn't pleased but she wasn't talking back either. Horace showed up last of all. He was talking over his walky-talky, updating the Chicago PD on all the crazy, tragic crap that had gone down. Rachel slipped past Horace on her way back to Dad. The unspoken order was for her to re-arm and stay close, something she couldn't do under Horace's watchful gaze. Lisa and Horace were working out a plan to take their perpetrator down and it didn't include me. I was a civilian after all. My thinking was traipsing in a different direction. They were thinking criminal evasion. I was thinking stone cold, bad-ass killer. He may have already killed one police officer in cold blood. Why not make it three? There was also the mathematics of it all. Two guns are more likely to hit a target than one; I had learned that bit of tactical insight from my time with Aya. My disadvantage was my advantage. I didn't have a gun so I didn't have to position myself so I could shoot at anyone else. "Here I go," I alerted the two officers. My body was flying onto the loading deck before they could stop me. My cockamamie idea saved my life. Maybe he thought I stumbled and lost my piece. Maybe, at the last second, he saw through my deception. Maybe he was wondering what the last episode of 'Defiance' would be like. We'll never know. According to Lisa, he was tracking my fall with his 3 57 Magnum. He didn't shoot because he only had two bullets left, hadn't been able to reload yet and his Berretta 9 mm back-up pistol was on the other side of his body. Two bullets; two cops, he was probably sure he could beat me to death. Anyway, when he figured out the sacrificial lamb was the unarmed me, he returned his aim to the entryway, Lisa and Horace. The guy wasn't behind any sort of cover. He was pressed against the wall so he wouldn't be able to bring his other pistol into play inside that first split second. When Lisa shot him, it had to hurt, but didn't put him down. She shot again; missed. He shot, missed, shot again hitting Lisa and knocking her back and down. The leader pivoted off the wall, bringing his Berretta to bare on Investigator Brewster. A lifetime inside the blink of an eye; Horace's bullet hit the criminal; major brain splatter. Poor Horace. Horace was falling onto his side, taking a wild shot and hoping to keep the gunman from shooting Lisa and I when he accidentally ended the man's existence. The lead bad guy's final shot zipped passed Horace's left shoulder, over my legs and ricocheted off the loading dock wall and into space. Good old Lisa, she staggered to her feet then stumbled over to the gunman, seeking some signs of life. He was alive. Horace's 45 slug had 'only' removed the top half of his brain so the heart and lungs were still being told to beat and breath. As she was making her own call for Emergency Services, a piece of the man's skull that had been clinging to the wall plopped down. That broke Horace. He began vomiting. I rolled over to a sitting position. Rachel peeked in then utilized her blue tooth to stop the rest of the SD team from swarming me in a public building. Cops began showing up. As soon as Detective Capella had made her initial report and dealt with the traumatic injuries among the survivors, she turned on me. "Are you insane!" she screamed at yours truly. "Yes," I muttered. "I've been trying to tell you that for over an hour now." "This is not a joking matter," Lisa moved into my personal space. Was I really so far gone I didn't want sex? Nah; I could do her. "I could have killed people." "To be fair," I stood up, "you didn't kill anyone." The policeman was clinging to life, the 'diplomat' had been saved by his body armor and the second talker's prospects didn't look promising. "Horace buried two and I'm betting the guy Rachel shot isn't going to survive having both his femoral arteries cut. Two decades of Law  and  Order has taught me that some sort of Internal Affair's investigation is going to happen. I imagine there is a great deal of surveillance video so you should be vindicated quickly. We are still going to part ways for a while," I pointed out. "Take care." I made to leave. "Where do you think you are going?" Lisa grabbed my arm. "You were involved in a gunfight in a major municipal building. You can't walk away." "Yes I can," I grunted. "Horace, I've pointed you at the dead bodies," I told the Burnham investigator. "Good luck," I patted him on the shoulder. The look he came back with wasn't one of resigned defeat. Oh no, he was going to figure out what the fuck was going on, or else. The rest of the Chicago PD wasn't letting to let us leave either, so off Rachel and I were taken to the closest Precinct where we were non-communicative. (Back with the Feds) Theodora rescued me and Rachel into Federal custody where we were equally useless. It didn't take me long to figure out that, compared to Rachel, I was being downright verbose. If me being a jackass was a bonus for the Feds, they didn't exhibit an ounce of appreciation. I really loved Special Agent John Rios getting all 'super ass-kicker' on me. I was looking at 'serious' federal jail time. I was a 'domestic terrorist' and under the Patriot Act; then I fell out of my chair laughing. I was fatigued; my ability to separate desire from reality was fading plus I always fought back with my wits before my fists. "I've been awake for thirty-six hours," I chuckled as I regained my seat. "What is your excuse for being delusional?" I snorted. "I trip up cocky bastards like you all the time," John sat on the table, hovering above me. "You think you've got all the angles covered. You don't, Mr. Nyilas. People like you take things for granted, screw up and then you are all turning on each other like rats." "Ugh," I sighed. "Fine, Brainiac, what am I doing wrong? To clarify the question for you, what crime am I involved with that makes me a criminal, a terrorist, or a criminal terrorist?" "Guns, Cáel Nyilas," John sneered. "With all the people running around with all those firearms, it is pretty freaking obvious." "Wow; uh; John;” I started. <

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

This week on the blog, a podcast interview with playwright and screenwriter Jeffrey Hatcher on Columbo, Sherlock Holmes, favorite mysteries and more!LINKSA Free Film Book for You: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/cq23xyyt12Another Free Film Book: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/x3jn3emga6Fast, Cheap Film Website: https://www.fastcheapfilm.com/Jeffrey Hatcher Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/jeffrey.hatcher.3/The Good Liar (Trailer): https://youtu.be/ljKzFGpPHhwMr. Holmes (Trailer): https://youtu.be/0G1lIBgk4PAStage Beauty (Trailer): https://youtu.be/-uc6xEBfdD0Columbo Clips from “Ashes to Ashes”Clip One: https://youtu.be/OCKECiaFsMQClip Two: https://youtu.be/BbO9SDz9FEcClip Three: https://youtu.be/GlNDAVAwMCIEli Marks Website: https://www.elimarksmysteries.com/Albert's Bridge Books Website: https://www.albertsbridgebooks.com/YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/BehindthePageTheEliMarksPodcastTRANSCRIPTJohn: Can you remember your very first mystery, a movie, book, TV show, play, a mystery that really captured your imagination? Jeffrey: You know, I was thinking about this, and what came to mind was a Disney movie called Emile and the Detectives from 1964. So, I would have been six or seven years old. It's based on a series of German books by Eric Kastner about a young man named Emile and his group of friends who think of themselves as detectives. So, I remember that—I know that might've been the first film. And obviously it's not a play because, you know, little kids don't tend to go to stage thrillers or mysteries and, “Daddy, please take me to Sleuth.But there was a show called Burke's Law that I really loved. Gene Barry played Captain Amos Burke of the Homicide Division in Los Angeles, and he was very rich. That was the bit. The bit was that Captain Burke drove around in a gorgeous Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, and he had a chauffeur. And every mystery was structured classically as a whodunit.In fact, I think every title of every episode was “Who Killed Cock Robin?” “Who Killed Johnny Friendly?” that kind of thing. And they would have a cast of well-known Hollywood actors, so they were all of equal status. Because I always think that's one of the easiest ways to guess the killer is if it's like: Unknown Guy, Unknown Guy, Derek Jacobi, Unknown Guy, Unknown Guy. It's always going to be Derek Jacobi. John: Yeah, it's true. I remember that show. He was really cool. Jim: Well, now I'm going to have to look that up.Jeffrey: It had a great score, and he would gather all of the suspects, you know, at the end of the thing. I think my favorite was when he caught Paul Lynde as a murderer. And, of course, Paul Lynde, you know, kept it very low key when he was dragged off. He did his Alice Ghostly impersonation as he was taken away.John: They did have very similar vocal patterns, those two.Jeffrey: Yep. They're kind of the exact same person. Jim: I never saw them together. John: You might have on Bewitched. Jim: You're probably right.Jeffrey: Well, I might be wrong about this, either Alice Ghostly or Charlotte Ray went to school with Paul Lynde. And Charlotte Ray has that same sound too. You know, kind of warbly thing. Yes. I think they all went to Northwestern in the late 40s and early 50s. So maybe that was a way that they taught actors back then. John: They learned it all from Marion Horne, who had the very same warble in her voice. So, as you got a little older, were there other mysteries that you were attracted to?Jeffrey: Yeah. Luckily, my parents were very liberal about letting me see things that other people probably shouldn't have. I remember late in elementary school, fifth grade or so, I was reading Casino Royale. And one of the teachers said, “Well, you know, most kids, we wouldn't want to have read this, but it's okay if you do.”And I thought, what's that? And I'm so not dangerous; other kids are, well they would be affected oddly by James Bond? But yeah, I, I love spy stuff. You know, The Man from Uncle and The Wild Wild West, all those kind of things. I love James Bond. And very quickly I started reading the major mysteries. I think probably the first big book that I remember, the first novel, was The Hound of the Baskervilles. That's probably an entrance point for a lot of kids. So that's what comes in mind immediately. Jim: I certainly revisit that on—if not yearly basis, at least every few years I will reread The Hound of the Baskervilles. Love that story. That's good. Do you have, Jeffrey, favorite mystery fiction writers?Jeffrey: Oh, sure. But none of them are, you know, bizarre Japanese, Santa Domingo kind of writers that people always pull out of their back pockets to prove how cool they are. I mean, they're the usual suspects. Conan Doyle and Christie and Chandler and Hammett, you know, all of those. John Dickson Carr, all the locked room mysteries, that kind of thing. I can't say that I go very far off in one direction or another to pick up somebody who's completely bizarre. But if you go all the way back, I love reading Wilkie Collins.I've adapted at least one Wilkie Collins, and they read beautifully. You know, terrifically put together, and they've got a lot of blood and thunder to them. I think he called them sensation novels as opposed to mysteries, but they always have some mystery element. And he was, you know, a close friend of Charles Dickens and Dickens said that there were some things that Collins taught him about construction. In those days, they would write their novels in installments for magazines. So, you know, the desire or the need, frankly, to create a cliffhanger at the end of every episode or every chapter seems to have been born then from a capitalist instinct. John: Jeff, I know you studied acting. What inspired the move into playwriting?Jeffrey: I don't think I was a very good actor. I was the kind of actor who always played older, middle aged or older characters in college and high school, like Judge Brack in Hedda Gabler, those kind of people. My dream back in those days was to play Dr. Dysart in Equus and Andrew Wyke in Sleuth. So, I mean, that was my target. And then I moved to New York, and I auditioned for things and casting directors would say, “Well, you know, we actually do have 50 year old actors in New York and we don't need to put white gunk in their hair or anything like that. So, why don't you play your own age, 22 or 23?” And I was not very good at playing 22 or 23. But I'd always done some writing, and a friend of mine, Graham Slayton, who was out at the Playwrights Center here, and we'd gone to college together. He encouraged me to write a play, you know, write one act, and then write a full length. So, I always say this, I think most people go into the theater to be an actor, you know, probably 98%, and then bit by bit, we, you know, we peel off. We either leave the profession completely or we become directors, designers, writers, what have you. So, I don't think it's unnatural what I did. It's very rare to be like a Tom Stoppard who never wanted to act. It's a lot more normal to find the Harold Pinter who, you know, acted a lot in regional theaters in England before he wrote The Caretaker.Jim: Fascinating. Can we talk about Columbo?Jeffrey: Oh, yes, please. Jim: This is where I am so tickled pink for this conversation, because I was a huge and am a huge Peter Falk Columbo fan. I went back and watched the episode Ashes To Ashes, with Patrick McGowan that you created. Tell us how that came about. Jeffrey: I too was a huge fan of Columbo in the 70s. I remember for most of its run, it was on Sunday nights. It was part of that murder mystery wheel with things like Hec Ramsey and McCloud, right? But Columbo was the best of those, obviously. Everything, from the structure—the inverted mystery—to thw guest star of the week. Sometimes it was somebody very big and exciting, like Donald Pleasence or Ruth Gordon, but often it was slightly TV stars on the skids.John: Jack Cassidy, Jim: I was just going to say Jack Cassidy.Jeffrey: But at any rate, yeah, I loved it. I loved it. I remembered in high school, a friend and I doing a parody of Columbo where he played Columbo and I played the murderer of the week. And so many years later, when they rebooted the show in the nineties, my father died and I spent a lot of time at the funeral home with the funeral director. And having nothing to say to the funeral director one day, I said, “Have you got the good stories?”And he told me all these great stories about, you know, bodies that weren't really in the casket and what you can't cremate, et cetera. So, I suddenly had this idea of a Hollywood funeral director to the stars. And, via my agent, I knew Dan Luria, the actor. He's a close friend or was a close friend of Peter's. And so, he was able to take this one-page idea and show it to Peter. And then, one day, I get a phone call and it's, “Uh, hello Jeff, this is Peter Falk calling. I want to talk to you about your idea.” And they flew me out there. It was great fun, because Falk really ran the show. He was the executive producer at that point. He always kind of ran the show. I think he only wrote one episode, the one with Faye Dunaway, but he liked the idea.I spent a lot of time with him, I'd go to his house where he would do his drawings back in the studio and all that. But what he said he liked about it was he liked a new setting, they always liked a murderer and a setting that was special, with clues that are connected to, say, the murderer's profession. So, the Donald Pleasant one about the wine connoisseur and all the clues are about wine. Or the Dick Van Dyke one, where he's a photographer and most of the clues are about photography. So, he really liked that. And he said, “You gotta have that first clue and you gotta have the pop at the end.”So, and we worked on the treatment and then I wrote the screenplay. And then he asked McGoohan if he would do it, and McGoohan said, “Well, if I can direct it too.” And, you know, I've adored McGoohan from, you know, Secret Agent and The Prisoner. I mean, I'd say The Prisoner is like one of my favorite television shows ever. So, the idea that the two of them were going to work together on that script was just, you know, it was incredible. John: Were you able to be there during production at all? Jeffrey: No, I went out there about four times to write, because it took like a year or so. It was a kind of laborious process with ABC and all that, but I didn't go out during the shooting.Occasionally, this was, you know, the days of faxes, I'd get a phone call: “Can you redo something here?” And then I'd fax it out. So, I never met McGoohan. I would only fax with him. But they built this whole Hollywood crematorium thing on the set. And Falk was saying at one point, “I'm getting pushback from Universal that we've got to do all this stuff. We've got to build everything.” And I was saying, “Well, you know, 60 percent of the script takes place there. If you're going to try to find a funeral home like it, you're going to have all that hassle.” And eventually they made the point that, yeah, to build this is going to cost less than searching around Hollywood for the right crematorium, And it had a great cast, you know, it had Richard Libertini and Sally Kellerman, and Rue McClanahan was our murder victim.Jim: I'll tell you every scene that Peter Falk and Mr. McGoohan had together. They looked to me as an actor, like they were having a blast being on together. Jeffrey: They really loved each other. They first met when McGoohan did that episode, By Dawn's Early Light, where he played the head of the military school. It's a terrific episode. It was a great performance. And although their acting styles are completely different, You know, Falk much more, you know, fifties, methody, shambolic. And McGoohan very, you know, his voice cracking, you know, and very affected and brittle. But they really loved each other and they liked to throw each other curveballs.There are things in the, in the show that are ad libs that they throw. There's one bit, I think it's hilarious. It's when Columbo tells the murderer that basically knows he did it, but he doesn't have a way to nail him. And, McGoohan is saying, “So then I suppose you have no case, do you?” And Falk says, “Ah, no, sir, I don't.” And he walks right off camera, you know, like down a hallway. And McGoohan stares off and says, “Have you gone?” And none of that was scripted. Peter just walks off set. And if you watch the episode, they had to dub in McGoohan saying, “Have you gone,” because the crew was laughing at the fact that Peter just strolled away. So McGoohan adlibs that and then they had to cover it later to make sure the sound wasn't screwed up. Jim: Fantastic. John: Kudos to you for that script, because every piece is there. Every clue is there. Everything pays off. It's just it is so tight, and it has that pop at the end that he wanted. It's really an excellent, excellent mystery.Jim: And a terrific closing line. Terrific closing line. Jeffrey: Yeah, that I did right. That was not an ad lib. Jim: It's a fantastic moment. And he, Peter Falk, looks just almost right at the camera and delivers that line as if it's, Hey, check this line out. It was great. Enjoyed every minute of it. Can we, um, can I ask some questions about Sherlock Holmes now?Jeffrey: Oh, yes. Jim: So, I enjoyed immensely Holmes and Watson that I saw a couple summers ago at Park Square. I was completely riveted and had no, absolutely no idea how it was going to pay off or who was who or what. And when it became clear, it was so much fun for me as an audience member. So I know that you have done a number of Holmes adaptations.There's Larry Millet, a St. Paul writer here and I know you adapted him, but as far as I can tell this one, pillar to post was all you. This wasn't an adaptation. You created this out of whole cloth. Am I right on that? Jeffrey: Yes. The, the idea came from doing the Larry Millet one, actually, because Steve Hendrickson was playing Holmes. And on opening night—the day of opening night—he had an aortic aneurysm, which they had to repair. And so, he wasn't able to do the show. And Peter Moore, the director, he went in and played Holmes for a couple of performances. And then I played Holmes for like three performances until Steve could get back. But in the interim, we've sat around saying, “All right, who can we get to play the role for like a week?” And we thought about all of the usual suspects, by which I mean, tall, ascetic looking actors. And everybody was booked, everybody was busy. Nobody could do it. So that's why Peter did it, and then I did it.But it struck me in thinking about casting Holmes, that there are a bunch of actors that you would say, you are a Holmes type. You are Sherlock Holmes. And it suddenly struck me, okay, back in the day, if Holmes were real, if he died—if he'd gone over to the falls of Reichenbach—people probably showed up and say, “Well, I'm Sherlock Holmes.”So, I thought, well, let's take that idea of casting Holmes to its logical conclusion: That a couple of people would come forward and say, “I'm Sherlock Holmes,” and then we'd wrap it together into another mystery. And we're sitting around—Bob Davis was playing Watson. And I said, “So, maybe, they're all in a hospital and Watson has to come to figure out which is which. And Bob said, “Oh, of course, Watson's gonna know which one is Holmes.”And that's what immediately gave me the idea for the twist at the end, why Watson wouldn't know which one was Holmes. So, I'm very grateful whenever an idea comes quickly like that, but it depends on Steve getting sick usually. Jim: Well, I thoroughly enjoyed it. If it's ever staged again anywhere, I will go. There was so much lovely about that show, just in terms of it being a mystery. And I'm a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. I don't want to give too much away in case people are seeing this at some point, but when it starts to be revealed—when Pierce's character starts talking about the reviews that he got in, in the West End—I I almost wet myself with laughter. It was so perfectly delivered and well written. I had just a great time at the theater that night. Jeffrey: It's one of those things where, well, you know how it is. You get an idea for something, and you pray to God that nobody else has done it. And I couldn't think of anybody having done this bit. I mean, some people have joked and said, it's kind of To Tell the Truth, isn't it? Because you have three people who come on and say, “I'm Sherlock Holmes.” “I'm Sherlock Holmes.” “I'm Sherlock Holmes.” Now surely somebody has done this before, but Nobody had. Jim: Well, it's wonderful. John: It's all in the timing. So, what is the, what's the hardest part about adapting Holmes to this stage?Jeffrey: Well, I suppose from a purist point of view‑by which I mean people like the Baker Street Irregulars and other organizations like that, the Norwegian Explorers here in Minnesota‑is can you fit your own‑they always call them pastiches, even if they're not comic‑can you fit your own Holmes pastiche into the canon?People spend a lot of time working out exactly where Holmes and Watson were on any given day between 1878 and 1930. So, one of the nice things about Holmes and Watson was, okay, so we're going to make it take place during the three-year interregnum when Holmes is pretending to be dead. And it works if you fit Holmes and Watson in between The Final Problem and The Adventure of the Empty House, it works. And that's hard to do. I would say, I mean, I really love Larry Millett's book and all that, but I'm sure it doesn't fit, so to speak. But that's up to you to care. If you're not a purist, you can fiddle around any old way you like. But I think it's kind of great to, to, to have the, the BSI types, the Baker Street Irregular types say, “Yes, this clicked into place.”Jim: So that's the most difficult thing. What's the easiest part?Jeffrey: Well, I think it's frankly the language, the dialogue. Somebody pointed out that Holmes is the most dramatically depicted character in history. More than Robin Hood, more than Jesus Christ. There are more actor versions of Holmes than any other fictional character.We've been surrounded by Holmes speak. Either if we've read the books or seen the movies or seen any of the plays for over 140 years. Right. So, in a way, if you're like me, you kind of absorb that language by osmosis. So, for some reason, it's very easy for me to click into the way I think Holmes talks. That very cerebral, very fast, sometimes complicated syntax. That I find probably the easiest part. Working out the plots, you want them to be Holmesian. You don't want them to be plots from, you know, don't want the case to be solved in a way that Sam Spade would, or Philip Marlowe would. And that takes a little bit of work. But for whatever reason, it's the actor in you, it's saying, all right, if you have to ad lib or improv your way of Sherlock Holmes this afternoon, you know, you'd be able to do it, right? I mean, he really has permeated our culture, no matter who the actor is.Jim: Speaking of great actors that have played Sherlock Holmes, you adapted a movie that Ian McKellen played, and I just watched it recently in preparation for this interview.Having not seen it before, I was riveted by it. His performance is terrific and heartbreaking at the same time. Can we talk about that? How did you come to that project? And just give us everything.Jeffrey: Well, it's based on a book called A Slight Trick of the Mind by Mitch Cullen, and it's about a very old Sherlock Holmes in Surrey, tending to his bees, as people in Holmesland know that he retired to do. And it involves a couple of cases, one in Japan and one about 20 years earlier in his life that he's trying to remember. And it also has to do with his relationship with his housekeeper and the housekeeper's son. The book was given to me by Anne Carey, the producer, and I worked on it probably off and on for about five years.A lot of time was spent talking about casting, because you had to have somebody play very old. I remember I went to meet with Ralph Fiennes once because we thought, well, Ralph Fiennes could play him at his own age,‑then probably his forties‑and with makeup in the nineties.And Ralph said‑Ralph was in another film that I'd done‑and he said, “Oh, I don't wear all that makeup. That's just far too much.” And I said, “Well, you did in Harry Potter and The English Patient, you kind of looked like a melted candle.” And he said, “Yes, and I don't want to do that again.” So, we always had a very short list of actors, probably like six actors in the whole world And McKellen was one of them and we waited for him to become available And yeah, he was terrific. I'll tell you one funny story: One day, he had a lot of prosthetics, not a lot, but enough. He wanted to build up his cheekbones and his nose a bit. He wanted a bit, he thought his own nose was a bit too potatoish. So, he wanted a more Roman nose. So, he was taking a nap one day between takes. And they brought him in, said, “Ian, it's time for you to do the, this scene,” and he'd been sleeping, I guess, on one side, and his fake cheek and his nose had moved up his face. But he hadn't looked in the mirror, and he didn't know. So he came on and said, “Very well, I'm all ready to go.” And it was like Quasimodo.It's like 5:52 and they're supposed to stop shooting at six. And there was a mad panic of, Fix Ian's face! Get that cheekbone back where it's supposed to be! Knock that nose into place! A six o'clock, we go into overtime!” But it was very funny that he hadn't noticed it. You kind of think you'd feel if your own nose or cheekbone had been crushed, but of course it was a makeup. So, he didn't feel anything. Jim: This is just the, uh, the actor fan boy in me. I'm an enormous fan of his work straight across the board. Did you have much interaction with him and what kind of fella is he just in general?Jeffrey: He's a hoot. Bill Condon, the director, said, “Ian is kind of methody. So, when you see him on set, he'll be very decorous, you know, he'll be kind of like Sherlock Holmes.” And it was true, he goes, “Oh, Jeffrey Hatcher, it's very good to meet you.” And he was kind of slow talking, all that. Ian was like 72 then, so he wasn't that old. But then when it was all over, they were doing all those--remember those ice Dumps, where people dump a tub of ice on you? You have these challenges? A the end of shooting, they had this challenge, and Ian comes out in short shorts, and a bunch of ballet dancers surrounds him. And he's like, “Alright, everyone, let's do the ice challenge.” And, he turned into this bright dancer. He's kind of a gay poster boy, you know, ever since he was one of the most famous coming out of the last 20 some years. So, you know, he was suddenly bright and splashy and, you know, all that old stuff dropped away. He has all of his headgear at his house and his townhouse. He had a party for us at the end of shooting. And so, there's a Gandalf's weird hat and there's Magneto's helmet, you know, along with top hats and things like that. And they're all kind of lined up there. And then people in the crew would say, can I take a picture of you as Gandalf? “Well, why, of course,” and he does all that stuff. So no, he's wonderful. Jim: You do a very good impression as well. That was great. Now, how did you come to the project, The Good Liar, which again, I watched in preparation for this and was mesmerized by the whole thing, especially the mystery part of it, the ending, it was brilliant.How did you come to that project?Jeffrey: Well, again, it was a book and Warner Brothers had the rights to it. And because Bill and I had worked on Mr. Holmes--Bill Condon--Bill was attached to direct. And so I went in to talk about how to adapt it.This is kind of odd. It's again based in McKellen. In the meeting room at Warner Brothers, there was a life size version of Ian as Gandalf done in Legos. So, it was always, it'll be Ian McKellen and somebody in The Good Liar. Ian as the con man. And that one kind of moved very quickly, because something changed in Bill Condon's schedule. Then they asked Helen Mirren, and she said yes very quickly.And it's a very interesting book, but it had to be condensed rather a lot. There's a lot of flashbacks and going back and forth in time. And we all decided that the main story had to be about this one con that had a weird connection to the past. So, a lot of that kind of adaptation work is deciding what not to include, so you can't really be completely faithful to a book that way. But I do take the point with certain books. When my son was young, he'd go to a Harry Potter movie, and he'd get all pissed off. Pissed off because he'd say Dobby the Elf did a lot more in the book.But if it's a book that's not quite so well-known—The Good Liar isn't a terribly well-known book, nor was A Slight Trick of the Mind--you're able to have a lot more room to play. Jim: It's a very twisty story. Now that you're talking about the book, I'll probably have to go get the book and read it just for comparison. But what I saw on the screen, how did you keep it--because it was very clear at the end--it hits you like a freight train when it all sort of unravels and you start seeing all of these things. How did you keep that so clear for an audience? Because I'll admit, I'm not a huge mystery guy, and I'm not the brightest human, and yet I was able to follow that story completely.Jeffrey: Well, again, I think it's mostly about cutting things, I'm sure. And there are various versions of the script where there are a lot of other details. There's probably too much of one thing or another. And then of course, you know, you get in the editing room and you lose a couple of scenes too. These kinds of things are very tricky. I'm not sure that we were entirely successful in doing it, because you say, which is more important, surprise or suspense? Hitchcock used to have that line about, suspense is knowing there's a bomb under the table. And you watch the characters gather at the table. As opposed to simply having a bomb blow up and you didn't know about it.So, we often went back and forth about Should we reveal that the Helen Mirren character knows that Ian's character is doing something bad? Or do we try to keep it a secret until the end? But do you risk the audience getting ahead of you? I don't mind if the audience is slightly ahead. You know, it's that feeling you get in the theater where there's a reveal and you hear a couple of people say, “Oh, I knew it and they guessed it may be a minute before. But you don't want to get to the point where the audience is, you know, 20 minutes or a half an hour ahead of you.Jim: I certainly was not, I was not in any way. It unfolded perfectly for me in terms of it being a mystery and how it paid off. And Helen Mirren was brilliant. In fact, for a long time during it, I thought they were dueling con men, the way it was set up in the beginning where they were both entering their information and altering facts about themselves.I thought, “Oh, well, they're both con men and, and now we're going to see who is the better con man in the end.” And so. when it paid off. In a way different sort of way, it was terrific for me. Absolutely. Jeffrey: Well, and I thank you. But in a way, they were both con men. Jim: Yes, yes. But she wasn't a professional con man.Jeffrey: She wasn't just out to steal the money from him. She was out for something else. She was out for vengeance. Jim: Yes. Very good. Very, if you haven't seen it, The Good Liar folks, don't wait. I got it on Amazon prime and so can you.Jeffrey: I watched them do a scene, I was over there for about five days during the shooting.And watching the two of them work together was just unbelievable. The textures, the tones, the little lifts of the eyebrow, the shading on one word versus another. Just wonderful, wonderful stuff. Jim: Yeah. I will say I am a huge Marvel Cinematic Universe fan along with my son. We came to those together and I'm a big fan of that sort of movie. So I was delighted by this, because it was such a taut story. And I was involved in every second of what was going on and couldn't quite tell who the good guys were and who the bad guys were and how is this going to work and who's working with who?And it was great. And in my head, I was comparing my love for that sort of big blow it up with rayguns story to this very cerebral, internal. And I loved it, I guess is what I'm saying. And, I am, I think, as close to middle America as you're going to find in terms of a moviegoer. And I thought it was just dynamite. Jeffrey: It was very successful during the pandemic--so many things were when people were streaming--but it was weirdly successful when it hit Amazon or Netflix or whatever it was. And, I think you don't have to be British to understand two elderly people trying to find a relationship. And then it turns out that they both have reasons to hate and kill each other. But nonetheless, there is still a relationship there. So, I pictured a lot of lonely people watching The Good Liar and saying, “Yeah, I'd hang out with Ian McKellen, even if he did steal all my money.” John: Well, speaking of movies, I am occasionally handed notes here while we're live on the air from my wife. And she wants you to just say something about the adaptation you did of your play, Stage Beauty, and what that process was like and how, how that process went.Jeffrey: That was terrific because, primarily Richard Eyre--the director who used to run the National Theater and all that--because he's a theater man and the play's about theater. I love working with Bill Condon and I've loved working with Lassa Hallstrom and other people, but Richard was the first person to direct a film of any of my stuff. And he would call me up and say, “Well, we're thinking of offering it to Claire Danes.” or we're thinking…And usually you just hear later, Oh, somebody else got this role. But the relationship was more like a theater director and a playwright. I was there on set for rehearsals and all that.Which I haven't in the others. No, it was a wonderful experience, but I think primarily because the, the culture of theater saturated the process of making it and the process of rehearsing it and—again--his level of respect. It's different in Hollywood, everybody's very polite, they know they can fire you and you know, they can fire you and they're going to have somebody else write the dialogue if you're not going to do it, or if you don't do it well enough. In the theater, we just don't do that. It's a different world, a different culture, different kind of contracts too. But Richard really made that wonderful. And again, the cast that he put together: Billy Crudup and Claire and Rupert Everett and Edward Fox and Richard Griffiths. I remember one day when I was about to fly home, I told Richard Griffiths what a fan Evan-- my son, Evan--was of him in the Harry Potter movie. And he made his wife drive an hour to come to Shepperton with a photograph of him as Mr. Dursley that he could autograph for my son. John: Well, speaking of stage and adaptations, before we go into our lightning round here, you did two recent adaptations of existing thrillers--not necessarily mysteries, but thrillers--one of which Hitchcock made into a movie, which are Dial M for Murder and Wait Until Dark. And I'm just wondering what was that process for you? Why changes need to be made? And what kind of changes did you make?Jeffrey: Well, in both cases, I think you could argue that no, changes don't need to be made. They're wildly successful plays by Frederick Knott, and they've been successful for, you know, alternately 70 or 60 years.But in both cases, I got a call from a director or an artistic director saying, “We'd like to do it, but we'd like to change this or that.” And I'm a huge fan of Frederick Knott. He put things together beautifully. The intricacies of Dial M for Murder, you don't want to screw around with. And there are things in Wait Until Dark having to do just with the way he describes the set, you don't want to change anything or else the rather famous ending won't work. But in both cases, the women are probably not the most well drawn characters that he ever came up with. And Wait Until Dark, oddly, they're in a Greenwich Village apartment, but it always feels like they're really in Westchester or in Terre Haute, Indiana. It doesn't feel like you're in Greenwich Village in the 60s, especially not in the movie version with Audrey Hepburn. So, the director, Matt Shackman, said, why don't we throw it back into the 40s and see if we can have fun with that. And so it played out: The whole war and noir setting allowed me to play around with who the main character was. And I know this is a cliche to say, well, you know, can we find more agency for female characters in old plays or old films? But in a sense, it's true, because if you're going to ask an actress to play blind for two hours a night for a couple of months, it can't just be, I'm a blind victim. And I got lucky and killed the guy. You've got a somewhat better dialogue and maybe some other twists and turns. nSo that's what we did with Wait Until Dark. And then at The Old Globe, Barry Edelstein said, “well, you did Wait Until Dark. What about Dial? And I said, “Well, I don't think we can update it, because nothing will work. You know, the phones, the keys. And he said, “No, I'll keep it, keep it in the fifties. But what else could you What else could you do with the lover?”And he suggested--so I credit Barry on this--why don't you turn the lover played by Robert Cummings in the movie into a woman and make it a lesbian relationship? And that really opened all sorts of doors. It made the relationship scarier, something that you really want to keep a secret, 1953. And I was luckily able to find a couple of other plot twists that didn't interfere with any of Knott's original plot.So, in both cases, I think it's like you go into a watch. And the watch works great, but you want the watch to have a different appearance and a different feel when you put it on and tick a little differently. John: We've kept you for a way long time. So, let's do this as a speed round. And I know that these questions are the sorts that will change from day to day for some people, but I thought each of us could talk about our favorite mysteries in four different mediums. So, Jeff, your favorite mystery novel”Jeffrey: And Then There Were None. That's an easy one for me. John: That is. Jim, do you have one?Jim: Yeah, yeah, I don't read a lot of mysteries. I really enjoyed a Stephen King book called Mr. Mercedes, which was a cat and mouse game, and I enjoyed that quite a bit. That's only top of mind because I finished it recently.John: That counts. Jim: Does it? John: Yeah. That'll count. Jim: You're going to find that I am so middle America in my answers. John: That's okay. Mine is--I'm going to cheat a little bit and do a short story--which the original Don't Look Now that Daphne du Murier wrote, because as a mystery, it ties itself up. Like I said earlier, I like stuff that ties up right at the end. And it literally is in the last two or three sentences of that short story where everything falls into place. Jeff, your favorite mystery play? I can be one of yours if you want. Jeffrey: It's a battle between Sleuth or Dial M for Murder. Maybe Sleuth because I always wanted to be in it, but it's probably Dial M. But it's also followed up very quickly by Death Trap, which is a great comedy-mystery-thriller. It's kind of a post-modern, Meta play, but it's a play about the play you're watching. John: Excellent choices. My choice is Sleuth. You did have a chance to be in Sleuth because when I directed it, you're the first person I asked. But your schedule wouldn't let you do it. But you would have been a fantastic Andrew Wyke. I'm sorry our timing didn't work on that. Jeffrey: And you got a terrific Andrew in Julian Bailey, but if you wanted to do it again, I'm available. John: Jim, you hear that? Jim: I did hear that. Yes, I did hear that. John: Jim, do you have a favorite mystery play?Jim: You know, it's gonna sound like I'm sucking up, but I don't see a lot of mystery plays. There was a version of Gaslight that I saw with Jim Stoll as the lead. And he was terrific.But I so thoroughly enjoyed Holmes and Watson and would love the opportunity to see that a second time. I saw it so late in the run and it was so sold out that there was no coming back at that point to see it again. But I would love to see it a second time and think to myself, well, now that you know what you know, is it all there? Because my belief is it is all there. John: Yeah. Okay. Jeff, your favorite TV mystery?Jeffrey: Oh, Columbo. That's easy. Columbo.John: I'm gonna go with Poker Face, just because the pace on Poker Face is so much faster than Columbo, even though it's clearly based on Columbo. Jim, a favorite TV mystery?Jim: The Rockford Files, hands down. John: Fair enough. Fair enough. All right. Last question all around. Jeff, your favorite mystery movie? Jeffrey: Laura. Jim: Ah, good one. John: I'm going to go with The Last of Sheila. If you haven't seen The Last of Sheila, it's a terrific mystery directed by Herbert Ross, written by Stephen Sondheim and Anthony Perkins. Fun little Stephen Sondheim trivia. The character of Andrew Wyke and his house were based on Stephen Sondheim. Jeffrey: Sondheim's townhouse has been for sale recently. I don't know if somebody bought it, but for a cool seven point something million, you're going to get it. John: All right. Let's maybe pool our money. Jim, your favorite mystery movie.Jim: I'm walking into the lion's den here with this one. Jeffrey, I hope this is okay, but I really enjoyed the Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock Holmes movies. And I revisit the second one in that series on a fairly regular basis, The Game of Shadows. I thought I enjoyed that a lot. Your thoughts on those movies quickly? Jeffrey: My only feeling about those is that I felt they were trying a little too hard not to do some of the traditional stuff. I got it, you know, like no deer stalker, that kind of thing. But I thought it was just trying a tad too hard to be You know, everybody's very good at Kung Fu, that kind of thing.Jim: Yes. And it's Sherlock Holmes as a superhero, which, uh, appeals to me. Jeffrey: I know the producer of those, and I know Guy Ritchie a little bit. And, I know they're still trying to get out a third one. Jim: Well, I hope they do. I really hope they do. Cause I enjoyed that version of Sherlock Holmes quite a bit. I thought it was funny and all of the clues were there and it paid off in the end as a mystery, but fun all along the road.Jeffrey: And the main thing they got right was the Holmes and Watson relationship, which, you know, as anybody will tell you, you can get a lot of things wrong, but get that right and you're more than two thirds there.

Somebody sent Boomer a putter for his birthday. CBS Sports Network sent bagels to celebrate. The Mets head out to the west coast after today's game against the Pirates. They will play the Dodgers and Giants. Jerry returns for an update and there's a new article out about Bill Belichick and the Falcons. Supposedly the Arthur Blank call to Robert Kraft is what stopped them from hiring him. The article also said the only teams that would hire Belichick in the future would be the Giants, Eagles or Cowboys. Ford dropped off cupcakes for Boomer and he tried to get all of us to eat one. In the final segment of the hour, we talked about the Netflix documentary series, ‘Homicide: New York'.

IANR 2410 030924 Line Up 4-6pm INTERVIEWS Here's the guest line-up for Sat, Mar 9, 2024 from 4 to 6pm CST on Indo American News Radio (www.IndoAmerican-news.com), a production of Indo American News. We are on 98.7 FM and you can also listen on the masalaradio app (www.masalaradio.com) By Monday, hear the recorded show on Podcast uploaded on Spotify, Apple Podcasts (https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/indo-american-news-radio-houston-tx/id1512586620 ) Google Podcasts, Pocket Casts, Radio Public and Breaker. We have 5 years of Podcasts and have had over 9,100 hits. TO SUPPORT THE SHOW, SELECT FOLLOW ON OUR FREE PODCAST CHANNEL. AND YOU'LL BE NOTIFIED WHEN OF NEW UPDATES. 4:20 pm Recent stats show that the total number of crimes in Harris County have fallen, yet there are daily reports of gunfights and people being murdered. It's up to the District Attorney's office to investigate these cases and prosecute them, so we wondered how the process works. Here to give us some background into this is HC Asst. DA Karen Barney, the chief prosecutor of the Homicide Division. 5:00 pm Mass manufacturing and merchandising cater to the growing appetite of the expanding consumer class worldwide but it has often been at the expense of the artisans who belong to cottage industries who find their incomes shrinking as their handicrafts are priced out and market share dwindle. When Tannya Singh discovered this happening in her ancestral home of New Delhi, she was prodded into action and started a company, Imroz Niwas, to tackle this issue. She joins us today to explain what she has created and its goals. 5:20 pm Cruising across the seas or a brief all-expenses paid vacation is an exciting experience for many peoples as they seek the company of their friends and family or business associates, or even like-minded groups. With eight and ten storey hotels on them and multiple entertainment venues, cruise ships have become resorts on the high seas. Rahat Sultana Kalle is among an elite group who travels 20 times and more each year. She joins us today to tell us what motivates her to cruise so often.  5:40 pm At the heyday of his engineering career with Conoco and later USAID, Bhamy Shenoy took the unusual step of retiring in order to get back to his roots in Mysore, Karnataka where he got involved with NGOs fighting corruption and to work for India's development. He and his wife Suman still visit the US often, as their three children live here. We turn to him today to tell us what its like to be a repatriated Indian and the challenges there. Also stay tuned in for news roundup, views, sports and movie reviews TO BE FEATURED ON THE SHOW, OR TO ADVERTISE, PLEASE CONTACT US AT 713-789-6397 or at indoamericannews@yahoo.com Please pick up the print edition of Indo American News which is available all across town at grocery stores. Also visit our website indoamerican-news.com which gets 70,000+ hits to track all current stories.  And remember to visit our digital archives from over 16 years.   Plus, our entire 43 years of hard copy archives are available in the Fondren Library at Rice University. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/indo-american-news-radio/support

Being known by the company you keep.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Life exists in both seconds and years. Don’t ignore one for the other.I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature.(Monday Night)I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain’t hindsight grand?Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra’s experiences with all the extra bells and whistles.In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom.I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body.“My turn,” she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she’d talked with Libra. Without question, she’d never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She’d manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat.This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she’d orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place.Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn’t a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line.From being sure she wasn’t going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The ‘fumph’ of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the buttocks as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy’s aim remained frighteningly accurate.Lemon juice and cuts don’t mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace’ mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose.Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don’t use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they’ll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend’s place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV.I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke’s boy toy. Hoping that wouldn’t be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn’t sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings.I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I’m not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she’d passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me.“Happy?” I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. “Are you glad you came over?” I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. “Ow,” I grumbled. “I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here.”“Do I need to bite you again?” Brooke mumbled into my chest.“Point taken,” I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked.“Cáel is going to be my boyfriend,” Brooke tossed out there. Huh?“What in God’s green earth makes you want to do that?” Timothy chuckled.“He’s been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn’t matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters,” Brooke enlightened us both.“Seriously Dude,” Timothy looked at me with pity.“Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal,” he added, but then, “Brooke, you know he’s seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?”“Cáel is looking for a serious relationship,” Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas.“Let’s go back to bed, Babe,” I redirected things to safer waters. “It is your turn to be on top.” Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my fucked up life except the beautiful woman with me right now’ sex.Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased my rod in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked my rod inside her vagina while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang.“Should I get that?” Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device.“The number is unlisted,” she mused. “Who could it be?” I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak.“Work,” I repeated. “It might be work. I’m on-call 24/7.”“Damn,” Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear.“Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use,” Katrina’s icy calm voice informed me.“Katrina, what is wrong?” I inquired. Normally, I wouldn’t get an answer. Katrina’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.“There has been an incident at your Father’s home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in,” she related.“Understood,” I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad.“Cáel?” Brooke sounded worried.“We need to get dressed,” I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I…I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette.She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already.“Odette, go back to Timothy’s room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!” I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room.“Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don’t come out until the police get here. Do you understand?” I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock.“Crab Fisher-woman,” a female voice said from the other side.“My Father’s Sister,” I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did.“[OKH] Ishara,” the leader said, “we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately.”They weren’t blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability.“[OKH] Will a team be watching my domicile?” I asked. The leader nodded. “We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone.”The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English.“Brooke, finish getting dressed. I’m taking you home,” I called out.Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out.“Bro?” Timothy asked.“My Father’s home was attacked. I have no other details right now,” I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile.“Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?” Timothy asked.He sensed we had limited time.“They,” and by 'they’ he knew I meant Havenstone, “will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don’t know anymore.”“We’ll stay put,” Timothy declared. Odette nodded. “We’ll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won’t say no.” I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay’.“You’ll need an overnight bag!” Odette squeaked. Off she went.Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean’s pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me’ for when I got back.“Three minutes, Ish; Cáel,” the leader updated me.My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move.“Velma,” she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat.Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H&K UMP-40; my second favorite Amazon killing device.Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down.Two SD’s to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me.I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up’. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well.“I’m not sure I can walk in this thing,” Brooke gave me a weak smile.“Don’t worry,” I smiled, “I’ll carry you.” I slipped my arm around Brooke’s waist and, on Velma’s signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend.I left with that promise unanswered. I didn’t ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn’t give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn’t end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina’s office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter.Katrina’s office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn’t know yet seemed to belong.“Excuse me?” Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me.“Don’t mind me,” Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room.“I’m here for moral support,” she concluded then took a seat.“Cáel?” Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room.“What’s going on?” I began the meeting instead.“Your Father is dead,” Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes’. Dad.“From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked,” Katrina told me.“Are they okay?” I mumbled. I didn’t want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference?“Three of the four members were killed,” Saint Marie interjected. “The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father’s domicile.The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father’s body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody.”“What are we going to do about this?” I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch.She’d lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive.“There is nothing we can do,” the stranger spoke up. “Troika of House Šauška.”“You are joking, right?” I stared at her.“He was a male, not of…” Troika began to state.“You do know your Amazon law, correct?” I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. “Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that.”Cha-ching!“Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!” Saint Marie jumped up. “They murdered the Head of House Ishara!” Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game.“But what does that make him?” Troika pointed at me.“It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active’ member of Havenstone 'represented’ the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First’ House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way,” Katrina said.“At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally,” Katrina pointed out. “There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned.”“This is Casus Belli,” Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. “I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories.”“To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?” I questioned. “Can I kill them?”“That is correct,” Troika appeared confused. “Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way.” I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad…Dad wouldn’t have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt.“Troika…hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of THE Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family,” I felt like crying.That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn’t recall if I said 'I love you’ to him. I’d never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet.“Troika,” I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion’ moment. “When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?”“No,” Troika clarified, “and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?” Pamela laughed at her.“Because I killed Cáel’s Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him,” Pamela related in an amused tone.“Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel’s Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel…who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going,” Pamela finished, “for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati.”Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me.“If you go to war against the O'Shea’s you are being forced to fight your own family,” the Golden Mare stared at me in shock.“Let me get this straight,” Troika stood up, waving for silence. “When the O'Shea’s killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage.” She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how fucked up everything was. Breach? No Breach?“Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina declared. There was a pause.“I’ll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go,” I said.“Were do you think you are going?” Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she’d had no role in affairs. My safety though…“I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy,” I announced. This was not a discussion.“Shouldn’t we take his body to the cliffs?” Troika suggested.“My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I’m not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now,” I sighed.I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang.“Cáel Nyilas,” I answered sadly.“Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time,” a man’s voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch.“Yes…Dad?” I finally spoke.“Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary,” he lied. It was a good lie.If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was…nah, he was lying.“I’m on the next flight to Chicago,” was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser’ replies to choose from.“That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas,” he told me. “Do you know when I can expect you?”“Ah…I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I’m there,” I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious.“One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance,” he pressed.“Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I’ll point you to the dead bodies when I’m done,” I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause.“Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?” Det. Brewster kept is game face on.“We’ll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care,” I said before hanging up.“Smooth,” Pamela gently chastised me.“I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don’ on that cop,” Buffy countered.“I’ll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago,” Helena added.“No,” I countermanded her. “You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning.”By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised…and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner’ induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara’s war cry.“I’ll take the first commercial flight available,” I continued.“We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara,” Velma warned me.“They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I’m showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person,” I reminded her. “I’ll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister.” Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad.The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn’t a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed.“It will be done,” Velma decided. “We will have your team meet you at O'Hare.”“My team?” I asked.“Rachel; her team,” Velma clarified. That was enough good for me.“Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I’d hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs,” I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy’.(Monday Noon)(The hospital)That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn’t sure that post-60 wasn’t her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon’s hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me.The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover.He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress.According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside.“We stand before the Eye of the World,” I whispered. That meant surveillance. “I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?”Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. “I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish,” I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place.They didn’t exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor.Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire.“Mr. Nyilas, I am…” and the introductions came pouring in.I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD.“We would like to talk with you,” Theodora took charge.“Can I ask a question first?” I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan.“Of course,” Theodora allowed.“Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here,” I finished with Brewster.“I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?” I looked over the group. “Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn’t take the news well.”“Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?” Theodora took charge.“Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to,” I agreed.“Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?” Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook.“I came to see the woman found alive in my family home,” I replied smoothly.“She is probably still in surgery,” Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex.“Oh, she got out an hour ago,” I enlightened them.“Let’s take this conversation to FBI Headquarters,” Theodora 'suggested’; you know, in the way that really wasn’t a suggestion.“Have you gone to see that woman?” Lisa wouldn’t let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I’d already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation.“Yes,” I responded to Lisa.“Isn’t she under police protection?” Lisa and Theodora blurted out together.“There was a policeman at her door,” I shrugged. “We went in and I talked to her.”“What did she say?” Theodora brushed Lisa aside.“Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said…well, I was emotional,” I evaded. “She was barely conscious.”Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out’. He couldn’t remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn’t been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times.“We should go to the FBI offices,” Theodora repeated.“I’m going home,” I sighed sadly. “I want to go home.”“It is still an active crime scene,” John told me. “There won’t be any civilian access for some time.” Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick.“Please, come with us,” FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight.“No. I’m going with Burnham PD,” I countered. “You can find me there.”“That’s not how it works,” Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture.Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had ANY history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others.“I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works,” I regarded Theodora. “Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say.”“Don’t you want to help solve your Father’s murder?” Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream.“Really? Fine; I’m going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father’s murder, not on their career,” I reposed.“We are all trying to…” Lisa got out.“You maybe,” I gave Lisa that much. “My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P&L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother’s illness and my college expenses.”“As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off,” I continued. “He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died.”“What about your activity?” Theodora inquired. We weren’t running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn’t make me talkative in the least.“I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet,” I began.“So that’s over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around,” I continued, “which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?”“No, it is not…” Theodora simmered.“How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?” Lisa interrupted.“I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home,” I lied convincingly.“Who are you?” Brewster decided that I wasn’t exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn’t speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction.“Rachel Louis,” Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. “You are Rachel Louis, aren’t you?”“Yes, she is,” I intervened. “Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist.”There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn’t with 'misanthropic’. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist’ that had them stumped.“Rachel is an unsociable man-hater,” I explained. “Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her.”“What kind of piece do you normal carry?” Rios asked her. Unsocial didn’t mean stupid.“I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10,” I answered. “We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office.” I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie.“Do have gun licenses for those weapons?” Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story.“It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?” Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly.“Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis,” Rachel replied. To me, “I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go.”“It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of…” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn’t!’ with 'what the flock?’“Ah…” Brewster got out.“On that note, I think we will be going,” I shrugged. To Rachel, “You do not get out enough.”“Can I see your wallet again?” Brewster was still confused by Rachel’s rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop’s hands.“I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely,” Rachel counterattacked. “Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here,” she produced a business card with a flourish, “is the contact information for our legal department.” Theodora took the card gingerly then read it.“Havenstone again,” she mused. “Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?”“Are you insane?” I trembled with emotion. “I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don’t want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him.”“Path, you IDIOT!” I screamed at Theodora. Fuck it, I was crying again. “Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!” In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless.Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn’t that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain.I wasn’t leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn’t sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact.“Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should…” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn’t lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don’t normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent.He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn’t care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren’t over yet.“Mr. Nyilas, were are you going next?” Detective Lisa came after us.“I…I don’t know,” I muttered. “Where is my Father’s body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom…I guess.” Brewster came hurrying along.“He is at the Medical Examiner’s Office,” Lisa informed me. “Come with me.”“Why don’t you give me the address?” I sighed.“Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?” Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time.“How about we cut to the chase?” I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes.“We’ll take my cars; cars with an ’s’,” I offered. “I am a hometown boy. I’ve never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn’t an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense.”Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience.Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen.“So the woman upstairs works with you?” Lisa asked as we pulled out.“Where to?” Tiger Lily (I still wasn’t used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies’. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I’ll scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine’. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went.“No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father’s on my behalf though I was unaware of it,” I related.“Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?” Brewster prodded.“That I don’t know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me,” I answered.“Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad,” I continued. “I don’t live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a…companion by the name of Odette Sievert.”“Companion? Is she…a working girl?” Lisa went searching.“No, I use the term companion to indicate she’s too nice a girl for me. She’s sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do,” I explained. “Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I’ve gotten the feeling he’s busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy.”“Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?” Brewster pondered.“One does not 'consider’ what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on,” I grumbled. “Yes, I know I live a screwed up life.”“What about your friends here?” Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me.“Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I’ll plead the Fifth,” I confessed.“We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister…Cáel,” Brewster stated.“Everyone we’ve talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear,” Brewster schooled me.“I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you,” Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. “Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists.”“You are not like the rest of this menagerie,” Lisa noted.“Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive,” Pamela smiled.Those two didn’t know what to make of Pamela’s statement because it was so sincere yet incredible.“If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it,” Pamela enlightened them.Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster.“But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?” he asked.“The men didn’t come to kill him,” Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. “They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him.”“The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire,” Lisa mumbled. “Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?”“Stupidity,” Pamela replied. “Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel.”“I don’t buy that,” Brewster said. “They simply started shooting at each other; no.”“Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either.”“That makes no sense,” Lisa protested.“Congratulations. That is why Cáel can’t talk to you anymore,” Pamela smirked. “This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I’d kill him myself.”“He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7-5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night,” Pamela teased me. “He’s no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I’m training him to be smarter than that.”“Who are you?” Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me.“I’ve fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves.”“Do you really think you are that good?” Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela.“Do you want your gun back?” Pamela offered up a police issue Glock-22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief.“How did you do that?” Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster’s shoulder with the man’s magazine. Brewster was aghast. She’d stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing.“I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me,” Pamela grinned.Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father.(The Medical Examiner’s Office)So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever.Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap’ instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery.Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out’, whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel.Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner’s autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less.The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn’t have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn’t unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa’s experienced eye. Rachel’s heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything.Horace didn’t know what was wrong yet when Lisa’s hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45.“Excuse me,” Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. “Excuse me,” Lisa demanded in a louder voice. “I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?”That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd’ fellows weren’t breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct’. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking’ men.That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look.“What can we do for you, officer?” the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly.“Whose body is that?” Lisa inquired.“I’m not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home,” he shrugged.“Take ten seconds and show me the release order,” Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn’t right.“Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad,” Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn’t curse around their children.“Of course, Detective Capella,” the diplomat nodded. “Is there a problem?” He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over.Lisa wasn’t born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge.“Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero,” I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace.“I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas,” Lisa informed them. “If I can’t talk to him, I can’t let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation.” The 'diplomat’ was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me’ without my phone ringing.Even so, 'I’ confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up.“One more question,” Lisa pulled a 'Columbo’, “was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players’?” The 'diplomat’ made one last lunge at deception.“Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean?”“Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS,” Lisa deconstructed their illusions. “The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt.Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance’,” Lisa pointed out. “Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt.”Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad’s horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space.The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers’. He whipped out a .357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad’s body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely.The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa’s hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat’s’ armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac-11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel’s hands.Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat’s EMS buddy revealed his own Mac-11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before.His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a .45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility.This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a .357 didn’t make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad’s body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father.The men’s cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney’s top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy’s shins and blasted off his knee caps.As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door.Rachel was rifling the closest EMS’s headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M-11.“Don’t,” Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door.“Rachel, leave the gun and follow me,” I commanded.“Wait,” Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat.Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn’t ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered [OKH] 'dirty goat’ at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier.“Da-darn it,” Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us.I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. T

Being known by the company you keep.By FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the podcast at Steamy Stories.Life exists in both seconds and years. Don’t ignore one for the other.I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature.(Monday Night)I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain’t hindsight grand?Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did; a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra’s experiences with all the extra bells and whistles.In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom.I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body.“My turn,” she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she’d talked with Libra. Without question, she’d never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She’d manipulated men most of her life; that was old hat.This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she’d orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place.Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn’t a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line.From being sure she wasn’t going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The ‘fumph’ of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the buttocks as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy’s aim remained frighteningly accurate.Lemon juice and cuts don’t mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace’ mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose.Brooke was learning my keystone technique; figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don’t use any one thing too much; make it a treat and they’ll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend’s place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV.I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke’s boy toy. Hoping that wouldn’t be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn’t sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings.I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I’m not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she’d passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me.“Happy?” I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. “Are you glad you came over?” I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. “Ow,” I grumbled. “I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here.”“Do I need to bite you again?” Brooke mumbled into my chest.“Point taken,” I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked.“Cáel is going to be my boyfriend,” Brooke tossed out there. Huh?“What in God’s green earth makes you want to do that?” Timothy chuckled.“He’s been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn’t matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters,” Brooke enlightened us both.“Seriously Dude,” Timothy looked at me with pity.“Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal,” he added, but then, “Brooke, you know he’s seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?”“Cáel is looking for a serious relationship,” Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas.“Let’s go back to bed, Babe,” I redirected things to safer waters. “It is your turn to be on top.” Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my fucked up life except the beautiful woman with me right now’ sex.Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased my rod in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked my rod inside her vagina while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang.“Should I get that?” Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device.“The number is unlisted,” she mused. “Who could it be?” I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak.“Work,” I repeated. “It might be work. I’m on-call 24/7.”“Damn,” Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear.“Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use,” Katrina’s icy calm voice informed me.“Katrina, what is wrong?” I inquired. Normally, I wouldn’t get an answer. Katrina’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.“There has been an incident at your Father’s home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in,” she related.“Understood,” I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad.“Cáel?” Brooke sounded worried.“We need to get dressed,” I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I…I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette.She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already.“Odette, go back to Timothy’s room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!” I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room.“Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don’t come out until the police get here. Do you understand?” I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock.“Crab Fisher-woman,” a female voice said from the other side.“My Father’s Sister,” I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did.“[OKH] Ishara,” the leader said, “we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately.”They weren’t blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability.“[OKH] Will a team be watching my domicile?” I asked. The leader nodded. “We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone.”The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English.“Brooke, finish getting dressed. I’m taking you home,” I called out.Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out.“Bro?” Timothy asked.“My Father’s home was attacked. I have no other details right now,” I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile.“Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?” Timothy asked.He sensed we had limited time.“They,” and by 'they’ he knew I meant Havenstone, “will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don’t know anymore.”“We’ll stay put,” Timothy declared. Odette nodded. “We’ll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won’t say no.” I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay’.“You’ll need an overnight bag!” Odette squeaked. Off she went.Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain; Brooke shoved her panties into my jean’s pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me’ for when I got back.“Three minutes, Ish; Cáel,” the leader updated me.My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move.“Velma,” she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat.Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H&K UMP-40; my second favorite Amazon killing device.Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down.Two SD’s to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me.I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up’. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well.“I’m not sure I can walk in this thing,” Brooke gave me a weak smile.“Don’t worry,” I smiled, “I’ll carry you.” I slipped my arm around Brooke’s waist and, on Velma’s signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend.I left with that promise unanswered. I didn’t ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn’t give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn’t end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina’s office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter.Katrina’s office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, Saint Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn’t know yet seemed to belong.“Excuse me?” Saint Marie shot a hostile look my way; actually right behind me.“Don’t mind me,” Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room.“I’m here for moral support,” she concluded then took a seat.“Cáel?” Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room.“What’s going on?” I began the meeting instead.“Your Father is dead,” Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes’. Dad.“From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked,” Katrina told me.“Are they okay?” I mumbled. I didn’t want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference?“Three of the four members were killed,” Saint Marie interjected. “The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father’s domicile.The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father’s body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody.”“What are we going to do about this?” I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch.She’d lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive.“There is nothing we can do,” the stranger spoke up. “Troika of House Šauška.”“You are joking, right?” I stared at her.“He was a male, not of…” Troika began to state.“You do know your Amazon law, correct?” I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. “Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that.”Cha-ching!“Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!” Saint Marie jumped up. “They murdered the Head of House Ishara!” Katrina was already back on top; ahead of the game.“But what does that make him?” Troika pointed at me.“It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active’ member of Havenstone 'represented’ the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First’ House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way,” Katrina said.“At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally,” Katrina pointed out. “There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned.”“This is Casus Belli,” Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. “I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories.”“To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?” I questioned. “Can I kill them?”“That is correct,” Troika appeared confused. “Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way.” I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad…Dad wouldn’t have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt.“Troika…hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of THE Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family,” I felt like crying.That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn’t recall if I said 'I love you’ to him. I’d never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was; yet.“Troika,” I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion’ moment. “When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do; since Dad was my family?”“No,” Troika clarified, “and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?” Pamela laughed at her.“Because I killed Cáel’s Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati; slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him,” Pamela related in an amused tone.“Perhaps; just perhaps; they were interested in what happened to Cáel’s Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel…who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind; coming and going,” Pamela finished, “for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati.”Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. Saint Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me.“If you go to war against the O'Shea’s you are being forced to fight your own family,” the Golden Mare stared at me in shock.“Let me get this straight,” Troika stood up, waving for silence. “When the O'Shea’s killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage.” She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how fucked up everything was. Breach? No Breach?“Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas,” Katrina declared. There was a pause.“I’ll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go,” I said.“Were do you think you are going?” Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she’d had no role in affairs. My safety though…“I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy,” I announced. This was not a discussion.“Shouldn’t we take his body to the cliffs?” Troika suggested.“My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I’m not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now,” I sighed.I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang.“Cáel Nyilas,” I answered sadly.“Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time,” a man’s voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch.“Yes…Dad?” I finally spoke.“Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary,” he lied. It was a good lie.If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was…nah, he was lying.“I’m on the next flight to Chicago,” was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser’ replies to choose from.“That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas,” he told me. “Do you know when I can expect you?”“Ah…I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I’m there,” I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious.“One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance,” he pressed.“Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I’ll point you to the dead bodies when I’m done,” I snapped; quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause.“Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?” Det. Brewster kept is game face on.“We’ll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care,” I said before hanging up.“Smooth,” Pamela gently chastised me.“I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don’ on that cop,” Buffy countered.“I’ll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago,” Helena added.“No,” I countermanded her. “You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning.”By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised…and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner’ induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara’s war cry.“I’ll take the first commercial flight available,” I continued.“We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara,” Velma warned me.“They; the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I’m showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person,” I reminded her. “I’ll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister.” Our sister; the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad.The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn’t a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed.“It will be done,” Velma decided. “We will have your team meet you at O'Hare.”“My team?” I asked.“Rachel; her team,” Velma clarified. That was enough good for me.“Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I’d hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs,” I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back; an 'atta boy’.(Monday Noon)(The hospital)That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn’t sure that post-60 wasn’t her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon’s hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me.The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover.He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress.According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside.“We stand before the Eye of the World,” I whispered. That meant surveillance. “I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?”Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze; yes. “I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish,” I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place.They didn’t exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor.Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire.“Mr. Nyilas, I am…” and the introductions came pouring in.I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD.“We would like to talk with you,” Theodora took charge.“Can I ask a question first?” I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan.“Of course,” Theodora allowed.“Okay; FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here,” I finished with Brewster.“I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?” I looked over the group. “Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn’t take the news well.”“Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?” Theodora took charge.“Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to,” I agreed.“Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?” Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook.“I came to see the woman found alive in my family home,” I replied smoothly.“She is probably still in surgery,” Lisa gave a twist of the lips; sex.“Oh, she got out an hour ago,” I enlightened them.“Let’s take this conversation to FBI Headquarters,” Theodora 'suggested’; you know, in the way that really wasn’t a suggestion.“Have you gone to see that woman?” Lisa wouldn’t let up; good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I’d already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation.“Yes,” I responded to Lisa.“Isn’t she under police protection?” Lisa and Theodora blurted out together.“There was a policeman at her door,” I shrugged. “We went in and I talked to her.”“What did she say?” Theodora brushed Lisa aside.“Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said…well, I was emotional,” I evaded. “She was barely conscious.”Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out’. He couldn’t remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn’t been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine; for someone who had been shot six times.“We should go to the FBI offices,” Theodora repeated.“I’m going home,” I sighed sadly. “I want to go home.”“It is still an active crime scene,” John told me. “There won’t be any civilian access for some time.” Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick.“Please, come with us,” FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight.“No. I’m going with Burnham PD,” I countered. “You can find me there.”“That’s not how it works,” Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture.Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had ANY history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others.“I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works,” I regarded Theodora. “Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say.”“Don’t you want to help solve your Father’s murder?” Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream.“Really? Fine; I’m going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father’s murder, not on their career,” I reposed.“We are all trying to…” Lisa got out.“You maybe,” I gave Lisa that much. “My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P&L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother’s illness and my college expenses.”“As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life; from a bank; and he paid it off,” I continued. “He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW; Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died.”“What about your activity?” Theodora inquired. We weren’t running off to her playground; yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn’t make me talkative in the least.“I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet,” I began.“So that’s over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around,” I continued, “which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?”“No, it is not…” Theodora simmered.“How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?” Lisa interrupted.“I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home,” I lied convincingly.“Who are you?” Brewster decided that I wasn’t exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn’t speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction.“Rachel Louis,” Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow; not Rachel. “You are Rachel Louis, aren’t you?”“Yes, she is,” I intervened. “Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist.”There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn’t with 'misanthropic’. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist’ that had them stumped.“Rachel is an unsociable man-hater,” I explained. “Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her.”“What kind of piece do you normal carry?” Rios asked her. Unsocial didn’t mean stupid.“I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10,” I answered. “We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office.” I could have done better; I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie.“Do have gun licenses for those weapons?” Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story.“It seems Ms. Louis; is it Ms. Ms. Louis?” Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly.“Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis,” Rachel replied. To me, “I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go.”“It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of…” Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn’t!’ with 'what the flock?’“Ah…” Brewster got out.“On that note, I think we will be going,” I shrugged. To Rachel, “You do not get out enough.”“Can I see your wallet again?” Brewster was still confused by Rachel’s rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop’s hands.“I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely,” Rachel counterattacked. “Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here,” she produced a business card with a flourish, “is the contact information for our legal department.” Theodora took the card gingerly then read it.“Havenstone again,” she mused. “Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?”“Are you insane?” I trembled with emotion. “I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don’t want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him.”“Path, you IDIOT!” I screamed at Theodora. Fuck it, I was crying again. “Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me; so fuck off!” In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless.Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn’t that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain.I wasn’t leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn’t sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact.“Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should…” Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn’t lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism; two words that don’t normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent.He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn’t care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren’t over yet.“Mr. Nyilas, were are you going next?” Detective Lisa came after us.“I…I don’t know,” I muttered. “Where is my Father’s body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom…I guess.” Brewster came hurrying along.“He is at the Medical Examiner’s Office,” Lisa informed me. “Come with me.”“Why don’t you give me the address?” I sighed.“Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?” Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time.“How about we cut to the chase?” I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes.“We’ll take my cars; cars with an ’s’,” I offered. “I am a hometown boy. I’ve never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn’t an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense.”Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team; most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience.Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen.“So the woman upstairs works with you?” Lisa asked as we pulled out.“Where to?” Tiger Lily (I still wasn’t used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies’. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I’ll scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine’. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went.“No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father’s on my behalf though I was unaware of it,” I related.“Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?” Brewster prodded.“That I don’t know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me,” I answered.“Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad,” I continued. “I don’t live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a…companion by the name of Odette Sievert.”“Companion? Is she…a working girl?” Lisa went searching.“No, I use the term companion to indicate she’s too nice a girl for me. She’s sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do,” I explained. “Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I’ve gotten the feeling he’s busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy.”“Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?” Brewster pondered.“One does not 'consider’ what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on,” I grumbled. “Yes, I know I live a screwed up life.”“What about your friends here?” Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me.“Investigator Brewster; Horace and Detective Capella; Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I’ll plead the Fifth,” I confessed.“We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister…Cáel,” Brewster stated.“Everyone we’ve talked to says you and your father were very close. Barring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind; just so we are clear,” Brewster schooled me.“I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you,” Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. “Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists.”“You are not like the rest of this menagerie,” Lisa noted.“Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive,” Pamela smiled.Those two didn’t know what to make of Pamela’s statement because it was so sincere yet incredible.“If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it,” Pamela enlightened them.Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster.“But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?” he asked.“The men didn’t come to kill him,” Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. “They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him.”“The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire,” Lisa mumbled. “Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?”“Stupidity,” Pamela replied. “Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens; I apologize Cáel.”“I don’t buy that,” Brewster said. “They simply started shooting at each other; no.”“Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either.”“That makes no sense,” Lisa protested.“Congratulations. That is why Cáel can’t talk to you anymore,” Pamela smirked. “This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with; no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I’d kill him myself.”“He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7-5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night,” Pamela teased me. “He’s no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I’m training him to be smarter than that.”“Who are you?” Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me.“I’ve fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves.”“Do you really think you are that good?” Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela.“Do you want your gun back?” Pamela offered up a police issue Glock-22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief.“How did you do that?” Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster’s shoulder with the man’s magazine. Brewster was aghast. She’d stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing.“I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me,” Pamela grinned.Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father.(The Medical Examiner’s Office)So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future; whomever.Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap’ instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue; disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery.Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out’, whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel.Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner’s autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less.The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn’t have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn’t unusual. Where they were standing was; to Lisa’s experienced eye. Rachel’s heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything.Horace didn’t know what was wrong yet when Lisa’s hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45.“Excuse me,” Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. “Excuse me,” Lisa demanded in a louder voice. “I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department; Homicide Division. What is going on?”That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd’ fellows weren’t breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct’. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking’ men.That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look.“What can we do for you, officer?” the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly.“Whose body is that?” Lisa inquired.“I’m not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home,” he shrugged.“Take ten seconds and show me the release order,” Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall; the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn’t right.“Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad,” Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn’t curse around their children.“Of course, Detective Capella,” the diplomat nodded. “Is there a problem?” He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over.Lisa wasn’t born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done; without my knowledge.“Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero,” I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace.“I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas,” Lisa informed them. “If I can’t talk to him, I can’t let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation.” The 'diplomat’ was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me’ without my phone ringing.Even so, 'I’ confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up.“One more question,” Lisa pulled a 'Columbo’, “was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players’?” The 'diplomat’ made one last lunge at deception.“Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate,” he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean?”“Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS,” Lisa deconstructed their illusions. “The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case; that would be me, if there was any doubt.Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance’,” Lisa pointed out. “Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt.”Darwin check time; they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad’s horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space.The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers’. He whipped out a .357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him; right in the center mass at less than 2 meters; ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad’s body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely.The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa’s hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat’s’ armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac-11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel’s hands.Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat’s EMS buddy revealed his own Mac-11. His mistake was not shooting his first target; Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before.His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a .45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target; our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility.This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a .357 didn’t make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad’s body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father.The men’s cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney’s top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy’s shins and blasted off his knee caps.As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door.Rachel was rifling the closest EMS’s headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M-11.“Don’t,” Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door.“Rachel, leave the gun and follow me,” I commanded.“Wait,” Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat.Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn’t ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered [OKH] 'dirty goat’ at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier.“Da-darn it,” Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us.I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. T